


Fata Morgana

by DaisyIfYouHave



Series: Overwatch 2.0 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 22:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyIfYouHave/pseuds/DaisyIfYouHave
Summary: I believe that you believe what you saw, he seemed to say.





	Fata Morgana

“Came back, eh?” Tracer leaned against the side of the bookcase, arms crossed, smirking, her hair ruffled, her eyes playful and sparkling against the blue of her shirt, and it seemed to Widowmaker that her accelerator pulsed as the beat of her own heart.

“I failed to finish the job last time.” She smiled. “It won’t happen again.”

“That a tactical uniform then?” She arched an eyebrow at Widowmaker’s dress, the silk just skimming her body, her legs lean and hungry and barely contained by the stiletto heels at her feet.

She advanced slowly, prowling. “Part of being an assassin, chérie,” she slid a hand to Tracer’s hip, “is the art of misdirection.”

“Well,” she laughed and straightened up, grinning up at Widowmaker, “ Consider me misdirected. You’ve got me totally snookered, love.”

Widowmaker leaned in close. “You speak the ugliest English I have ever heard.”

Tracer stepped to her, their lips nearly touching, the bright, clean scent of her, like soap and sunshine, surrounding her senses. “We.” She playfully touched along Widowmaker’s shoulder, “Invented it.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Sure.” And with that, she leaned up and kissed Widowmaker, who felt the explosion, bright across her brain, something she wasn’t sure she had ever felt before, something daring and bold and full of mystery, but not the mysteries of the shadows in which she was so at home, but the mysteries of the light, somehow more shocking and frightening, the mysteries of a dandelion growing from concrete.

Tracer’s hand met her waist, but crept lower, and lower still and then—

Widowmaker woke up in a hot flush, gasping at the strange and unwelcome tingle that engulfed her body, like a thousand tiny bites from cheerful Cockney gnats. She flung the covers from her body and walked to the bathroom, turning the faucet and splashing water on her face. She looked up, her figure only barely visible in the moonlight. Her dark blue skin was good for that. She was glad she had agreed to it. She was deadly. She was dangerous.

A dream changed nothing.

**

Winston studied the screen carefully. You could say what you wanted about Talon, and some of it would even be true, but the fact remained that they were remarkably good at keeping the pea shifting under each cup, and you never knew exactly where they were going to land. There had been whispers, of the next attempt, and he and Pharah had spent hours poring over the facts, reading and rereading and still. Nothing.

Maybe it was a false lead, maybe nothing was planned, but as Pharah had pointed out, if someone were aiming for a good moment, while one of their top team members—their fastest one, as well—was down would be it.

So he looked, and he worried.

There was a metallic ting on the stairs behind him, and he turned to see Tracer making her way up the stairs, her hair sticking out, nearly blending into her tortoiseshell frames and making it look all the wilder, slippers on her feet and a hoodie pulled over her pajamas.

“Lena,” He unconsciously raised a hand to help her, “You shouldn’t be up. You—“

She waved her hand. “Put a sock in it. I’ll die of boredom if I lay in that bed one more minute.” She moved gingerly, despite her bravado, and gently lowered herself  into the small chair at the edge of Winston’s command center. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “I’ve been in bed for two weeks. A record for me, that.”

Winston looked over at her. “You were shot three times with a 44.”

“Yeah, what’s your point?” She smiled, her eyes still closed.

He chuckled, and turned back to the screen. It was true what he’d said—she should be in bed, resting—but privately he was happy to see her. It seemed unnatural whenever she was still, and his office was a bit lonelier without her constant interruptions and chipper chattering. Her being here at the edge of his desk was a sign that life was going back to normal, and that soon she’d be back to zipping around the room, and arguing with Pharah about whether or not blinking around the court counted as cheating at basketball, considering Pharah was six feet tall and she couldn’t reach the top shelf in the kitchen.

“Win?”

“Yeah?” He looked over to her faraway gaze.

“If I tell you something, you promise not to think I’m mad?” She switched to playfulness. “And don’t say you already think I’m mad.”

He pushed away from the desk and turned to her, indulging a moment of rare seriousness on her part. “Go ahead.”

She toyed with the tie of her hood. “Widowmaker came to me when I was in hospital.”

Winston had been expecting some sort of morphine-addled disclosure, this was true, but he expected to hear about a bright light, and the spirit of her father, perhaps her playing sax for an all-girl cabaret in New Orleans, he wasn’t sure, but what he didn’t expect was that she had hallucinated a deadly assassin as her personal candy striper.

“Oh.” It came out less eloquently than he imagined.

She laughed, and winced at it, closing her eye and taking a deep, slow breath. “You don’t believe me even a smidge.”

He shook his head. “I believe you saw Widowmaker, Lena.”

She slowly propped her feet on a box and leaned back, trying to edge away from the discomfort. “You’ve got a knack for a careful choice of words, love.”

He sighed. You could tell her a thousand times that she had been on enough drugs to kill a horse, but there was no point to it. She had decided this had happened, and no one would be able to tell her any different.

He decided to appeal to logic. “How did she get past the perimeter? The defenses?”

She shrugged, looking over at Winston, her exhaustion beginning to show in her face. “Dunno. But she did.” Her voice was firm.

“Why didn’t she kill you?” He squirmed internally at the thought.

“Dunno. But she didn’t.” She paused a moment, and the corner of her mouth raised in a grin. “She kissed me.”

Winston’s tenderness fell off into the banter of play, and he rolled his eyes.”. “Lena, you were stoned.”

She leaned forward, a grin on her face, her eyebrows raised in excitement, and for a moment he forgot she had been hurt at all. “Win, I’m being very serious and heart felt with you just now, and I would appreciate it if you would—“

He let out a loud laugh, and ruffled her hair. “You hallucinated one of our enemy agents, who on more than one occasion has tried to kill you, kissing you, have you been thinking of that suit she wears that much?”

Lena winked, “Not so much the suit as what’s in it, if you catch me.” She giggled in her bright, explosive way, and then stopped, her body locked in place, biting her bottom lip, her eyelids fluttering.

Winston quietly reached out, his hand covering her back. “You can stay. But you should lay back. Just, just that.” She did not argue, and let him help her rest against the back of the chair.

She looked up at him, her eyes pain-bright. “It did happen.”

“Okay, Lena. Okay.”


End file.
